


You & Me

by TrinineWriter



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Divorce, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Joey - Freeform, Marriage Proposal, Out of Character, Romance, Zoan, do we have a pairing name yet, joan x zoey, post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28378692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrinineWriter/pseuds/TrinineWriter
Summary: Zoey wants to get married more than anything, but their happiness is threatened by Joan's past.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Joan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Zoey**

“Come on, Joan, I’m going to be late. You know what the boss is like.” I can’t help but grin when I picture Joan’s sassy face. I don’t really want Joan to leave me alone, and, thanks to her early bird proclivities, we have plenty of time before we actually need to get ready.

Joan presses a bit closer against me. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘what the boss is like’, but I’m sure she’ll approve of you being late today.” Joan is obviously not interested in my reply, because I can feel her lips on the back of my neck.

I turn over so I can fully face her. Sometimes, I still can’t believe I found someone like Joan - and I still catch myself thinking that I don’t deserve her. The ways in which she loves me, you’d think I was a flawless creature, and we both know I’m quite the opposite. 

“Hey, what did you want to ask me last night at dinner?” 

My pulse races and I bite at my lower lip instinctively. 

“You said we could talk about it later, so I’m assuming there’s something else you wanted to say.”

“Oh, there is.” 

Joan narrows her eyes at me expectantly. 

“But that’s going to have to wait.” 

She gives that deep-throated laugh of hers. The one that has only increased its power over me in the years that we’ve been together.

“It’s your laugh,” I said to her not long after we met. “It sounds as though it can only be truly genuine.”

“That’s because, with you, it is,” she’d stated in typical Joan fashion, her face straight and not a trace of irony in her eyes.

“Wait for what?” She asks now, but only because she’s trying to coax a reaction out of me.

“For this.” I half-climb on top of her and plant my lips on hers. She knows from experience that the time for talking has passed now. I can tell from the intensity in her gaze when we break from our kiss, and that glint in her eyes - the one I can never get enough of- that I’m in for a treat. I’m always in for a treat with Joan.

I kiss her again, but when I do, I position my entire body on top of hers, her breasts touching mine, my naked legs pushing hers apart.

I haven’t been with anyone as long as I have been with Joan, and never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined it would be this way. This satisfying, this passionate, this life-changing. I knew from the very beginning that Joan is not one to half-heartedly commit to anything, and she has shown me that time and time again.

My lips trail from her mouth to her jawline, down to her neck, to that spot just below her ear where I can spend endless time until she can’t take it anymore. But we don’t have all day today. We both have a job to go do.

Our ministrations haven’t missed their effect, and already, on this very ordinary Wednesday morning in early October, we are both nearly breathless. It feels as though it’s just us in the world, here, in our cozy corner of Joan’s mansion, which I haven’t been able to leave since I came back.

I let myself slip off of her, and as always, I miss her body touching mine. Like a subconscious part of my brain is still a little scared she’ll leave me. That one day she’ll wake up and realize who I really am, and just disappear forever.

But Joan has no intention of leaving me, not ever, and certainly not at this very moment. I scoot to the edge of the bed and plant my feet on the ground. “Come here,” I beckon her.

But Joan has other plans, of course. She takes my hand and drags me back on the bed toward her. 

“Sit on top of me,” she says, and I could luxuriate in the gravelly tone of her voice.

I have to move around awkwardly to comply with her wishes, but in the end-as ever- I’m exactly where she wants me to be. Already spread wide, my knees supporting my weight, I lower myself to straddle her.

“Wrap your arms around me, babe,” she instructs, and I have to suppress a giggle, because, obviously, I wasn’t in the exact position she had envisioned me in, and as much as Joane is a go-getter kind of person in everyday life, she’s even more so here, in her bedroom, which has become ours. On silk sheets of her mansion, she made me whole again.

There are not a lot of things I wouldn’t do for Joan, for a lot of reasons, but especially because of what she has done for me, and what she represents in my life, so I do as I’m told. I shift my balance, fold myself forward on top of her, and tuck my arms under her back, wrapping my fingers around the tops of her shoulders from underneath.

“Good girl,” she whispers in my ear as she wraps her strong arms around me and pulls me in for a passionate kiss. Before Joan, I never knew the effect words like that, spoken under these circumstances, could have on me. I didn’t know a lot of things before Joan.

“I love you,” she says when we break our lip-lock, and if I hadn’t been extremely aroused already, this particular sentence would surely have done the trick, so now my clit seems to throb in double-time, and I’m ready, so ready, for whatever she has in store for me.

“I love you too.” I always say it back, and I always mean it with every fiber of my being.

Joan’s hands travel down the length of my back, her fingers spreading and resting on my waist. It makes me feel as though she has a firm grip on me, here and everywhere else. It’s as though as long as I’m with her, I’ll always be safe. Her hands don’t remain there for long. She brings one hand up to my hair and tugs lightly. My head goes back, exposing my neck. The time for just a gentle caress with her lips has passed, and after she flicks her tongue over my pulse point, she takes it between her lips and sucks hard.

“Oh,” I mutter under my breath. Her other hand slides further down and squeezes my ass tightly. You’re driving me wild, I want to say, but I don’t have these words at the ready right now. She’s already moved on to the other side of my neck, playing with it a while longer, as though bestowing on it the small mercy of time - of two seconds of being worshiped - before she claims it with her lips and teeth.

Then, she gives a gentle tug to my hair and I naturally slide up her body just a few inches. It’s enough. I feel her fingers skate over my ass and along my wet opening. Her lips have found another body part of mine to occupy themselves with, as they are now biting the soft flesh between my shoulder and my chest.

I sink my fingers into her shoulders, pulling her impossibly closer and pressing myself into her. I consider how utterly intertwined we are in this moment - and in every other aspect of our lives. I used to be a loner, or rather, I used to feel so alone… Until Joan. This thought makes me want to buck my pelvis toward her, makes me want to urge her to delve those fingers she’s teasing me with inside of me, high and deep, and fuck me.

And then she does. I feel her fingers slide inside and my breath catches in my throat. Joan is kissing me more tenderly now. I can feel her eyes on me even though my own have fallen shut above her.

Her fingers go up and down, and I clench myself around her, around those delicious fingers of hers. Sometimes, when we’re sitting outside in the evening, or having dinner, or just watching TV, my gaze lands on her lands, and I can’t look away because the mere sight of those strong, slender fingers of hers makes me break out in a sweat. Because I know what these fingers do, and I know who they belong to - Joan, my Joan, my everything.

I never used to be this sentimental, I think, as Joan increases the speed of her thrusts, and flicks along my clit in quick but regular intervals, and she has me panting on top of her in no time.

I’m all over her, still, I feel, as the beginning of a climax is starting to rumble through me, as though I want more, so I open my eyes to look into hers as this moment tethers us together. She’s inside of me, and her gaze is kind but determined - the sexiest combination ever - and I’m at her mercy, and then she hits the spot that pushes me right over the edge. I feel myself falling, even though I remain atop Joan’s strong body, and her fingers are still stroking me inside, and her gaze still has that expectant quality to it, as if she’s still not sure I’ll come for her, while I’m already halfway there.

“Oh Joan,” I say, but my voice sounds as though I’m in utter agony, and we both know what that means. The orgasm seizes me, grabs me from all sides, and I ride Joan’s fingers until my muscles go stiff, and my back is cramping up, and even after that, I still hold onto her, and wrap her up inside my limbs. My forehead falls to the bed and I say, “Fuck, I love you.”

Joan slides her fingers out of me and wraps her arms around me. I chuckle lightly as my brain slowly begins to clear and I find myself in a mess of limbs, sweat, and my own juices clinging to Joan’s fingers.

We roll around until she’s laying half on top of me and I stare up at her. Dark tresses frame her beautiful face perfectly, my heart melts all over again.

“Now you can ask me,” Joan says.

“What?” My brain is still fuzzy.

“The thing you wanted to ask me about last night,” Joan fills in.

“Right.” I smile at her. “It’s um…” I try to take a deep breath but the air catches in my lungs.

Joan tilts her head and looks at me with concern in her eyes, “What’s going on, babe?”

I blow the air from my lungs and bite at my lower lip. I run my fingertips up her side and down her arm until I’m holding her forearm. “I have a question for you.”

“I’m listening.”

One more deep breath and I clear my throat. “Joan Bennett, will you marry me?”

I watch dark eyebrows shoot up, lips fall open, and… shoulders slump. 

“What?”

**Joan**

“Is there any chance you’d want to become my wife?” The smile on Zoey’s face has faded a little. Why is she asking me this? We have never discussed marriage between us as such - although we have devoted plenty of time talking about other people’s marriages.

“Look, Zoey, I - “ But I can’t bear the sudden sadness on her face, so I don’t continue, because these words, also, are too difficult to say right now. I want her to smile again. I want her to roll over on the bed with me again. I want to rewind the last minute and bask in her post-orgasmic glory a little longer without having this question hanging over me. Because my love and commitment for Zoey are not the issue here. Nor is the prospect of me wanting to spend the rest of my life with her. But marriage. I already did that once. I am a product of a failed marriage. I have seen what a bad marriage does to people, I have lived it, witnessed it, cried myself to sleep many a night because of it, and vowed to myself that I would never get married again. Why would I?

“Don’t be too enthusiastic,” Zoey says. She tries a grin but I can tell she’s hurt by my lack of response.

I can’t say yes, I simply can’t, but I can’t say no either, because that would break her heart, and the last thing I want to do is break Zoey’s heart.

“I-I thought,” I begin again. “I thought you knew how I felt about marriage.

Zoey scrunches her lips together and looks at me for a few long, silent seconds before speaking. “If you mean that I know how you feel about your marriage to Charlie, yes, I do. But I’m not him, Joan. I’m me. We’re us.”

“Look,” I push myself up entirely, almost afraid to prolong skin contact with her. “We’re going to have to talk about this later. I have to get to work.” What was she thinking springing this on me? Was she trying to rush me into a decision? Clouding my brain with lust and dopamine then popping the question when I don’t have time to even think about it properly. Or, perhaps, I consider, the whole point is that people usually don't have to think about it.

“Joan,” Zoey has pushed herself up as well. “I know you have to go to work, but you have a little bit of time.” She grabs me gently by the arm. “I want you to know this is not a spur-of-the-moment decision for me. I’ve been thinking about asking you for a while, trying to come up with the right time. I even have a ring in my desk drawer, sitting at the ready, waiting for the right moment. But when I woke up this morning, and it hit me which day it is, I knew with certainty, and an almost unbearable clarity, that I wanted to ask you now. I’ve waited long enough.”

What day is it? I rack my brain frantically but come up empty. It doesn’t even matter. Because it seems Zoey is dead-set on marrying me - and I’m by no means the marrying kind, not anymore. 

“Did you really think I would say yes?” I ask her, and in the process, break both of our hearts a little. Mine is cracking, that’s for sure. Because why does it have to change? Why isn’t just being together enough? Why do we need a stupid piece of paper?

“Honestly,” Zoey drops my arm from her hand. “I did think you’d say yes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“But-” I have so many arguments, so many logical reasons gathered in my mind to oppose what she has just said, but they’re all clogged together into a big mass of thoughts with only one thing in common: the word ‘no’ looming above them in big, bright, blinking letters.

“You’re right, Joan. We shouldn’t have this conversation now.” Zoey sits up a bit straighter. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

She turns away from me, and her physical retreat feels like a slap in the face. Obviously, she had expected more of me. Had expected me to rise above my rigid principles and what marriage means to me because I love her so much.

“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say. “I need to think about it.” I’m not saying no, I want to say, but I can’t say it out loud, because it would be a lie.

“You do that.” Zoey stands with her back to me. She seems to hesitate for a split second, then she walks away.

* * *

“Every day, I’m so immensely grateful for the luck you bestow upon SPRQ Point with your presence,” Ava says to me, “but today, I’m not so sure. What’s eating you, Joan?”

I throw my half-eaten sandwich onto the table. “Nothing.” Nothing I feel comfortable talking about in the break room, anyway.

“Was Tobin acting up again?” she inquires, knowing full well that just Tobin wouldn’t have me behaving like this. “If he was, don’t hesitate to send him to Leif. He has a way with him. Knows how to sort him out.” Tobin, though a royal pain in my ass at times, is not the issue today.

“I can handle Tobin just fine,” I reply, perhaps a bit too sternly.

“Okay.” Ava moved from Texas to California a long time ago, but she still has a little southern drawl in her voice. “I know you can, Joan, I was just saying.” She glares at me with those dark brown eyes of his. “Do you want to talk about it?” She asks then, her voice much softer than before.

Do I? 

“Zoey asked me to marry her,” I blurt out. 

Mr. Stewart who sits in the furthest corner of the room reading  _ The San Francisco Chronicle _ looks up.

I guess I really did want to talk about it otherwise those words would not have fallen from my mouth like that in front of a colleague I’m not at all close to. 

“Oh my god,” Ava shrieks, “But- but that’s wonderful news.”

“Can we go to your office?” I ask because it’s as though I can actually see how Mr. Stewart’s ears have perked up.

“Of course, yes, and after school, we must go out to celebrate.” I should have remembered how happily married Ava is.

I get up and make my way out of the break room. Ava’s office is just down the hall and I hurry, afraid I might burst into the most inappropriate tears before I reach its safety.

“You’re acting as if this is bad news, Joan,” Ava says, worry crossing her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t say yes. I couldn’t.” Uninvited, I crash down into a chair. What would Dr. Hakim have to say about this, I suddenly wonder. My former therapist would have the right words and would steer me, ever so gently, in the right direction. 

“Oh goodness, Joan.” Ava sits down next to me. “Why?”

I can’t possibly explain this to Ava. I would need to tell her a few things I’d much rather keep to myself. Additionally, my next meeting starts in five minutes and I need to pull myself together for it somehow.

“Because… I’m not the marrying kind.” I have to give her something. “I never thought Zoey was either, but it turns out that she is.” I take a deep breath. “And now I’ve hurt her and I don’t know what to do.”

“I um, I’m sure she, er, understands.” Ava shifts her weight uneasily in her chair. This was not the conversation she intended on having with me. Maybe I  _ should _ go see Dr. Hakim. 

“We’ll figure it out,” I say, but I’m sure this doesn’t convince Ava, and I’m not exactly convinced either. If Zoey wants this, and she must really want it otherwise she would never have asked, there’s only one way for this to turn out. I’ll somehow have to find the strength, the courage, or the plain stupidity, to say yes.

My watch dings with a meeting reminder and I shoot up out of my chair.

“Let’s go for a drink later?” Ava asks.

“I’ll let you know.” With that, I hurry to the door and make my way to my office.

**Zoey**

I’m not one to give in to sentimentality too much, but today of all days, I wish my dad was still alive so I could talk to him about this. The water of the lake is cold as I swim to the Clarke cabin. I’m grateful I decided to call in and spend the day here, where it all began. The cabin is empty now, most of them are. Another summer is behind us, the days are getting shorter and shorter, and as I ignore the cold sting of the water on my skin, and take a breather at the jetty leading to Joan’s cabin, I wonder if I have made a terrible mistake. 

Joan will always be Joan, I know that. I don’t expect her to change, not for me or for anyone, but I believed our love would have been enough to make her say yes. I genuinely believed that Joan Benett would have wanted to marry me, despite her previous screwed-up relationship. I believed that three years with me was enough to have healed most of her wounds. I was wrong.

I block out my thoughts and dive back under the water. Joan wouldn’t be caught dead in the lake now. Once October rolls around, she just wants to curl up by the fire and pretend it’s winter already. But I need the freshness of it, the way it makes me feel and clears the cobwebs from my brain. In my heart of hearts, while I shift water beneath me and propel myself forward, I know that I didn’t make a mistake. I know because I know Joan. Through-and-through, freckles and all. I’m the only person on this planet who knows her darkest secrets and her most desperate thoughts. That’s how I know she’s afraid. And Joan does not do well with fear.

I hoist myself out of the water, wrap myself in the towel I left by the water’s edge and hurry inside. Mo will be here soon for our weekly Wednesday lunchtime rendezvous. It’s his turn to bring food, so all I have to do is change and wait for him. I take my time to towel off and slip into a warm set of clothes because I don’t want too much time to just sit around and think. I’m always happy to see Mo, who works part-time as a DJ while he gets a fashion degree from USF. 

“Hello, Zoey,” Mo says when he arrives with a couple of salads from our favorite deli in town. “What’s shaking?”

I inhale deeply, unsure if I should say anything to Mo, but I’m not one to hold something to myself for too long, especially not something of this magnitude. The only thing that worries me is Mo getting upset but I’ve come to appreciate his different perspective.

“I asked Joan to marry me.”

“Oh fuck,” Mo says. “Girl, tell me you didn’t.”

“I just told you I did.”

“I bet that went down well.” He stares at his salad for a few seconds, as though he just realized he ordered the wrong one. “I’m sorry Zoe, you may be the most wonderful, exciting, sexy woman on the planet, but you can’t just put a ring on Joan Bennett. She has suffered through too much for that.”

It feels as though instead of only having to persuade one important person in my life, I now have to convince them both that this is a good idea. “I know Joan blames Charlie for a lot of things that went wrong in her life, and am not saying she’s wrong, but that doesn’t mean marriage is wrong.”

Mo sighs, as though I’m missing the point. “Maybe in your eyes, but not for Joan. She went through hell during her divorce… I know you were there for some of it, but your father had just passed so I’m sure there were things she kept to herself. It was messy Zoey.”

Mo falls into a musing silence, and I guess it’s too much to push for more details. But today of all days. Three years since my father passed away and he made me promise that I would always be open to love and the possibilities and beauty it brings. I made that promise to him, and it took me years to realize the right person had been there all along. But ever since that first time with Joan, that first time she allowed herself to let me in, I knew she was the one. No matter her stance on marriage, I was always bound to ask her eventually. If only in the memory of my mother and father.

“Some people are just not meant to get married,” Mo offered.

“With all due respect, Mo, I know that’s true for some people, but not Joan. Sure, her previous relationship was terrible and she thinks it will save her from a great deal of unhappiness in her life, but it does not apply in this situation I know that much.”

Mo just shrugs, and I appreciate that I can say just about anything to him without offending him.

“Why is it so important for you to get married?” he asks. 

“Because, to me,” I’m quick to reply, because I have thought about this, and I have questioned my motives over and over again, and considered them important enough to indulge, “it would be like walking in mom and dad’s footsteps. They believed in love more than anything else, and their marriage was the absolute best thing that happened to them. They told me over and over again. And I want that for myself as well.”

“But you have Joan already. She worships you. She would give you the world. Why the need to formalize?”

“It’s what I want. I want to stand up and tell the world. I want the piece of paper. I want Joan Bennett to be my wife and I want to be her’s. I’m not saying I’m not happy now, because I am, but nothing would make me happier. And if that makes me a sentimental, overly romantic fool, that’s fine. That only means I take after my parents, which is a thought I greatly cherish.”

“Well, good luck convincing Joan, Zoey. God knows she’s probably the most stubborn person I’ve ever known - and that’s saying something. She’d do a lot for you, but I don’t see her caving on this one. History is hard to forget.”

“That’s what it is through - history.” I stand by my point.

Mo huffs out a breath. “That may be very true, but Joan is going to do anything she can to not let history repeat itself, including refusing your marriage proposal. You know what she is capable of, Zoe.” The fact that he addresses me by my nickname leads me to believe he’s referring to Joan’s suicide thoughts during the worst part of her marriage to Charlie, which is a low blow and has absolutely nothing to do with this.

“Why don’t we eat?” I say because I will defend my position as long as I have to, but Mo is not the one I have to convince. It’s Joan I need to talk to.

“Hell, yes.” Mo seems to have snapped out of his solemn moment. “I’m starving.”

“I’m careful to steer the subsequent topics of our lunchtime conversation away from marriage and relationships, though Mo does mention her boyfriend a few times.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Mo asks once we’ve finished lunch. “Not that she’ll listen to me, but I can speak on your behalf.”

“Oh really? And what would you say on my behalf when you’re totally opposed to everything I have just said?”

“Nu-uh.” He waggles his index finger left and right. “You must have misunderstood me, Zoey. I can feel your passion. I’m not opposed to it, I was just trying to explain Joan’s position. Maybe if we both work on her, we can get her to sway.”

_ If we both work on her.  _ It sounds ridiculous, and not at all how it was meant to go. “I’ll talk to her myself first.” 

“Suit yourself.” Mo rises. “I have a post-lunch date with the hottest man in town, so please excuse me.”

“You are excused.” I laugh and watch Mo walk off. I shake my head, I have my work cut out for me if I ever want to see my name on a marriage certificate next to Joan’s.

**Joan**

“You said no?” When Mo calls me as soon as my last meeting ends, at first I think something has happened to Zoey. But, if it were really an emergency, my assistant would have notified me during the meeting.

“Excuse me?” News really does travel at lightning speed in this city by the bay. I remember Zoey’s weekly lunch date with Mo. They must have talked.

“You said no to the best thing that has ever happened to you?” Mo asks. I was not expecting this from Zoey’s best friend.

“Mo please, I’m still at the office. My head is still full of work. Give me a break.”

“I’m downstairs in the lobby. Come down or I’m coming up.”

“Jesus.” I hiss into my phone. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I think we should talk about this face-to-face,” he says.

“Are you sure you want to give me relationship advice, Mo?” A bit below the belt, but I know Mo can take it.

“This isn’t about your relationship, Joan. It’s about making the woman you love’s dreams come true.”

“Oh christ,” I growl, “there we go already with emotional blackmail.”

“You coming down?”

Reluctantly, I grab my purse and turn out my office lights. “Yes.”

“We should grab a drink.”

“What? No. I’m supposed to go for a drink with Ava.”

“Ava? She should join us, then,” Mo says definitively.

“Look, Mo, I’d really rather not talk about this. I’ve barely talked about it with Zoey. It’s hardly fair on her-”

“If you’re going to play the Fair card, Joan, then you should definitely meet me because I have a thing or two to say about that.” Mo always has a dozen things to say about everything.

“Hey.” Ava greets me as I step off the elevator. “Ready to -” She stops talking when she notices I’m on the phone.

“It’s Mo,” I whisper, which is ridiculous because Mo can hear me just fine whether I whisper or not.

“Is that Ava?” Mo asks, “Have you told her?”

“Yes, but Mo, I’m not sure-”

“Oh, I see you!”

I look up to see Mo and he’s shaking Ava’s hand before I have the chance to say anything. I sigh and drop my phone in my bag. “Mo’s joining us for drinks then.”   
“Oh, okay,” Ava says. “This should be fun. We haven’t done this in a long time.”

_ Since my divorce. _

On the way to the bar, each one of us in our own car, I consider calling Zoey, but yesterday-before she popped the question- she said something about meeting the new tenants of one of her properties, and I don’t want to disturb her. I also don’t know what I would say if I did talk to her. I’m the last to arrive. Mo and Ava have already slipped into a booth. I want to admonish Mo, but, of course, he knows full well that I won’t do that in front of my colleague. 

“First of all, Joan,” he says as he makes room for me on the bench, “don’t tell Zoey about this. I told her I wouldn’t mention it to you. She wanted to talk to you in private first.”

“For crying out loud, Mo.” It’s futile to say anything further about this to Mo, and I know for a fact that Zoey didn’t really expect Mo to keep his big trap shut, because he simply never does. He’s incapable of keeping the smallest of secrets. 

“Let’s have a drink.” I wave at the bartender who comes over and takes our drink order.

“I don’t really want to talk about this,” I say as soon as the bartender saunters off. “I need to think about it some more first.”

“I assume ya’ll are talking about the big proposal?” Ava clarifies.

Of all the ways I had expected my day - a really ordinary day - at that - to go when I woke up this morning. Me sitting here with Ave and Mo feels more like a hallucination. Almost like a bad dream, but not quite, because this is Zoey we’re talking about, a woman who has been nothing but good for me. Is this what i”m supposed to do to reward her, to pay her back for everything she has done for me> Let go of my principles, and my well-founded reasons for not wanting to get married, just to make her happy> Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be all about; compromise, good times and bad sharing the burden that life can be sometimes? Because I know very well that life isn’t always a picnic, and I also know that a woman like Zoey is not someone you meet every day. Should this be my ultimate gift to her?

“Joan.” Mo juts me hard in the shoulder.

“This is between Zoey and me,” I say. I turn to Mo, “This is really none of your business.”

_ Talking about it will nearly always make it better, will make it easier to unravel the mess in your head.  _ I suddenly hear Dr. Hakim’s soothing voice in my head. Apart from Zoey, Mo and Ava are the two people I’m closest to in this town. If I’m going to address this issue with anyone, it can only be with them.

“The hell it’s not,” Mo says. “I’m your friend and I’m Zoey’s friend and I  _ need  _ to know if I’m going to be in a bridal party soon.” He draws up her eyebrows.

“Don’t you have a class tonight?” I ask.

“Only at seven, ma’am. We have one hour to talk about this.”

The bartender drops off our drinks and we clink our glasses together despite the fact that there’s really nothing to celebrate.

“I don’t mean to pry, Joan. But what’s the problem exactly?” Ava asks.

This is my therapy now, I think. Explaining my innermost feelings to Mo and Ava in a bar. “The problem is that I don’t want to get married again.” It really is as simple as that.

“Okay.” Ava sucks her right cheek into her mouth as she looks at me. “And do you have a specific reason for that?”

It would have been easier to have two separate conversations about this, because now, while I try to reply to Ava’s question, I feel Mo’s eyes burning on my skin, and it makes me feel uncomfortable and inhibited. “Yes. I do. My marriage with Charlie was basically a big joke. We were never really happy, but that damned piece of paper kept us together all those years, to our detriment.” I should not be having this conversation anymore, I think. I have put this behind me. Why drag all this up?   
“While that may very well be the case, Joan, Zoey is not Charlie and  _ you _ are an entirely different person. Trust me, I speak -” Ava is interrupted by the door swinging open. I’m sitting facing the exit and, as always, my heart swoops when I see Zoey. Whether she wants to marry me or not. Whether we’ve had a fight or not. When I see Zoey, I feel it everywhere and the effect she has on me is instantaneous and unmistakable.

“Hey,” I rise to hug her and breathe in her sweet yet spicy scent. She’s so beautiful I get lost in her for an indefinite amount of time.

“Impromptu party?” Zoey asks after we release each other. “Why wasn’t I invited?” Her lips are curled into a smile.

“Because we’re talking about you, of course, Zoey.” Mo says with his usual tact.

“Oh, well then, please don’t mind me. I’ll be sitting at the bar with my ears burning,” she jokes, while nodding at Ava.

“Please, join us.” Ava scoots over on the bench.

I raise my hand to get the bartender’s attention and Zoey sits down opposite me. Whatever will we talk about now? I was interested in hearing Ava’s further arguments, but we can’t possibly continue our conversation.

“All we need now is one more person to walk in,” Mo says cryptically.

I glance at Zoey, ignoring Mo’s comment, to see if I can find any signs of distress on her face. But this is Zoey I’m sitting across from and, if my refusal to give her a jubilant positive reply this morning is hurting her, she would never let it show in the company of others. She gives me a crooked smile that makes me melt a little.

“I can easily guess what you were discussing before I walked in.” Zoey eyes Mo intently while she says this. “But this is between Joan and me.”

That shuts Mo up. Another one of Zoey’s superpowers: silencing people with a few well-chosen words.

Her dark eyes land on me again and, then, I  _ can _ see it. It’s surely imperceptible to anyone else, but to me, it’s visible in the lines bracketing her mouth. They are more rigid than usual. More persistent when her mouth transitions from talking to smiling and back. this  _ is _ eating at her. How could it not?

When Ava excuses herself to use the bathroom, Zoey takes the opportunity to whisper in my ear, “Let’s get out of here. I want to take you somewhere.”

We finish our drinks, say our goodbyes, and head out. 

Outside, I start walking to my car, but Zoey stops me. 

“Let’s take mine instead,” she says. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Zoey**

I hadn’t expected to find Joan at the bar. I had just gone in for a quick beer before my trip to the cemetery. But as soon as I laid eyes on her, I knew I wanted to take her with me.

“Where are we going?” Joan asks when we’re almost there.

I take her hand in my own, but stay silent until we’ve arrived and I park next to the graveyard’s entrance. 

“Oh shit.” Joan squeezes my fingers tightly and palms her forehead when she realizes where we are. “I’m so sorry Zoey. I completely forgot.”

“It’s fine. You hardly got to know him. There’s no reason for you to remember the exact date.”

“Of course there is.” Joan is pursing her lips together in frustration with herself. 

I didn’t bring her here to make a thing about her forgetting though.  “Come on.” I’ve learned that quick, firm action is sometimes the only way to get Joan out of her head. I slide out of the car and wait for her at the open gate. 

She takes my hand and stands with me. “How are you feeling?” she asks softly.

I look toward the gravestone perched on top of the hill. “I just like to stop by and mark the occasion. It’s important to me.”

“I understand.” Joan wraps her fingers a little tighter around mine and I squeeze her fingers back in return. I know she lost her mom several years ago, but she does understand, in a way.

We walk the remaining distance in silence. I prefer to come here on my own, to just take a moment to myself. It’s not a hugely emotional experience for me anymore, just a matter of paying my respects and remembering what my father taught me.

I stare at the black marble stone with my father's name etched into it. “It makes me so sad that he can’t see you with me today,” I say to Joan, with an unexpected lump in my throat.

“I would have loved to have known him now as well.” Joan’s voice is strong, and she leans into me a bit more. We stand there in silence for a moment as I try to gather my thoughts.

“Look, Joan, I’m not one to force my beliefs and my dreams on others.” Somehow, it helps me to say this while I’m looking at the headstone - as though the memory lingers stronger here and I can draw on it for support. “If you don’t want to marry me, I will understand. I  _ do _ understand. But I need you to see why I asked you in the first place, despite knowing full well how you feel about marriage.” I inhale deeply, looking for the right words to explain. “It’s not about a piece of paper, or a ring, or any other attempt to formalize our relationship. It’s definitely not to fill a gaping hole in my heart, or because I believe that marriage is the true outcome, the pinnacle of what happens when two people fall in love.” I turn to Joan but don’t immediately look her in the eye. “It’s for them. These two people who loved me, and raised me, and taught me everything that’s important in life. And I know that may be hard for you to fully grasp, what with your history and the polar opposite experience you had with Charlie. And it’s not easy to explain with words, though I hope bringing you here helps.” Heat rises in me. Oh, damn. There’s the first tear, threatening to fall from my eye. “It- it’s something that I feel so deeply inside, that I  _ had _ to ask. It was the only natural thing for me to do... I miss him and I miss seeing them together every day. I miss the way my dad looked at my mom, and how my mom would poke fun at him for doing so. And now I have you, and I don’t really know why it would make me feel”- I have to pause for a sniffle - “so immensely happy to be married to you. I just know that it would. And I also know that it would have made him happy for me, and proud of me for snagging a woman like you - even though we had a precarious start. I know my mom is happy for us, even though she's still not getting out much these days... and I think, my dad, if he’d had the opportunity to be there, would probably have cried throughout the entire ceremony.”

Joan looks at me with her clear green eyes, and I remember the only other time she was here - the funeral - and how much of a different person she is now, how much she means to me now. When she opens her mouth to speak, I bring a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“No. You don’t have to say anything now. I just want you to understand. I didn’t bring you here to change your mind, Joan. I came here to try to explain where I’m coming from.”

“Zoey-” she starts again.

I shake my head. “Just stand here with me. Be here with me. I know you will think about it. But I don’t want you to change your mind because of what I just said and to… well just to please me. I want you to say yes because _you_ _want_ to be married to me as much as I want to be married to you.”

“Okay.” Joan cups her hands around my cheeks and pulls me to her. She plants a tender kiss on my lips. “I promise you I will think about it.”

I wipe the last tears from my cheeks. “Enough sentimentality for one day.”

“It’s so unfair that he died when you are just really getting your start in life,” Joan says.

“Life is hardly ever fair.” I curve my arm around her waist and pull her close. “But while we’re alive, I do believe in living it to the fullest. There’s no other way.”

“I know.” Joan pulls me into her, and my cheek rests against her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat. I wonder what’s really going through her mind.

A light drizzle starts falling, but Joan doesn’t move. I keep resting my head on her chest and she keeps holding me. I realize, once again, that I can’t change the thoughts in Joan’s head, just like she doesn’t have the power to change mine. Silently, I speak to my dad, and I tell him, 'Look at this woman, this powerhouse, she beat so many odds, had everything stacked against her, and yet she is the freaking CEO of a tech giant. She is strong and brave and disciplined, yet so unbelievably vulnerable and kind. Look at her, standing here with me now in the rain. She is  _ good _ , dad. She is good to me, and she is good for me. I wish you could be here to see the way she looks at me.'

After a few minutes, my cheeks are wet with a mix of tears and raindrops, I lift my head from Joan’s chest. “We should probably go. The rain is only going to get harder.”

“You explained it well,” Joan says, her voice is soft, and her arms still hold me tight. “I want you to know that I understand, even though you might think that what you were trying to say would be lost on me... I understand.”

Her eyes start to shine with unshed tears, and I know, in this moment, she really  _ sees _ me. I stand up on my toes, take her face in my hands, and kiss her fully on the lips, not caring where we are or how the rain is starting to pour down.

Back at Joan’s house, I run a hot bath, and once Joan’s in, I sit at the edge of the white clawfoot tub looking at her, at how she relaxes in the hot water, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, I wonder if we are truly living our lives to the fullest. If happiness is the ultimate goal, then I guess we are.

“I’m coming in,” I say. “Make some room.”

“Oh come on,” Joan doesn’t even open her eyes but a grin slides across her lips. “Do you really want to disturb my mindfulness right now?”

I splash water at her. “Oh yes.” I take off my clothes and realize that water will spill over the tub when I get in with her, but I don’t care. I put one leg in, definitely disturbing Joan’s peace, and thump against her thigh.

“You’re serious.” Joan’s eyes pop open and she sits up.

“When am I not serious?”

Joan looks at me incredulously. I'm hardly the serious one between the two of us.

I hoist my other leg into the tub and look down at Joan. Foam covers most of her body.

“ I can’t believe this,” she feigns annoyance. “I have a taxing professional life trying to stay ahead of the curve, and when I come home in the evening, I’m not even allowed to fully relax. I have to share my hard-earned, relaxing bath time with you.”

“Oh, I know.” Gently, I lower myself to minimize the spillage. “Life with me is so very hard for you," I mock her playfully. "I really don’t know why you keep me around Joan.” Once my butt hits the bottom of the tub, our legs intertwine underwater and I let myself get lost in her gaze.

“I guess for the adventure.” Joan doesn’t blink when she replies. She just leans back in the tub and finds a relaxing pose, her eyes never leave mine. “I never know when you’ll be lying in wait to jump me.” A crooked smile plays on her lips. 

This banter is a game we play often. It’s just nonsense, but it’s our own personal couple nonsense.  “Jumping on someone is hardly my style.” I flush at the lie, I’ve jumped Joan more times than I can count. It's hardly my fault that she likes to wear those sky-high Louboutin heels.

“Mmm…” She doesn’t say anything else, but with her toes, she begins to trace a line up my inner thigh. She stares at me intently, her gaze unwavering. “I think we have some unfinished business.”

“If you say so.” Sitting in the bath with Joan is always a sensual experience, so I’m not going to argue. 

“You’d better listen to the boss.  _ You know what she’s like. _ ” Joan mocks our earlier conversation. 

“Oh yeah?” I feign innocence. “And I guess you do?” Her toe is now nearing the throbbing region at the apex of my thighs, and my voice has gone to little more than a whisper.

“Even better,” she says and pushes herself to move across the tub toward me. Water splashes over the sides as she crawls toward me, her eyes going dark with desire. I don't imagine I'll ever get over this wild power dynamic and the way she looks at me when she wants me. “I’ll show you,” she whispers when her lips are mear inches from mine. And then she does exactly that.

  
  


**Joan**

The next day at work, Ava knocks on my classroom door. “Got a minute?” she asks. 

“Sure.”

She closes the door and leans her hip against the chair closest to my desk.

“Sorry for running out on you and Mo like that last night,” I say.

She waves off my comment. “Don’t worry about that. Mo is a real hoot. Haven’t laughed so much in ages.” She strokes her chin with her fingers for an instant. “But I wanted to say something to you. Something I wanted to say yesterday but didn’t get the chance to.”

“You have my attention.”

“I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, Joan, but what you said about your previous marriage yesterday struck a chord with me.” She stretches her fingers and seems to study her nails for a second. “Whatever thoughts you have in your head about that marriage and the relationship and how it affected you… those thoughts only apply to you and Charlie, to the combination of the two of you together.” She looks back up at me, pinning her dark brown gaze on me.”Ten years ago, when I met my husband, I was just like you. There was no way I would ever get married because marriage was just an old fashioned patriarchal institution invented so wives could serve their husbands. At least, that was what I believed, because that’s how it was in my family. My father treated my mother as his personal maid, as his property, basically. And I had always vowed that I would never be any man’s property, bound to him by a stupid piece of paper… But, you see, that was their marriage. That was the combination of the two of them together. My relationship with my husband, and eventually my marriage, couldn’t be more different from theirs because we are not the same people. I’m not my mother and my husband is not my father.”

I’m a bit taken aback by Ava’s speech. “Are your parents still together?”

“My father died four years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I guess it’s no coincidence that we got married four years ago.” Ava huffs out a chuckle. “Look, Joan, I’m not trying to sway you in any direction, and I’m not here on anyone’s behalf, but I just really wanted you to know this about me. We all have our reasons for behaving the way we do, and we all carry some sort of burden from our past with us. I’m just saying that what happened when you were married to Charlie doesn’t have to define you now. Everyone is different. You are not the same person. That’s all.” She tilts her head in a show of empathy.

“Thanks, Ava,” I say, quite moved by her little speech.

“Don’t mention it.” She shrugs. “Besides, you and Zoey are two women. How could it ever be the same as a boring old heterosexual marriage?” Ava obviously finds this very funny and slaps her thigh. “I have to run.” She looks at her watch. “But whenever you want to talk, I’m here, okay?”

As Ava skedaddles out my office, I ponder the sense of community I have here. It’s how Ava just took time out of her schedule to tell me this. My schedule is swamped and I know her’s is too. I get to experience my dream every day. I run one of the top tech companies in the world and I get to work with incredible people. I conclude that everything that everyone has said to me can only lead me to one person: my father.

“What are you doing here?” my father's gruff voice asks when I rap my knuckles against the back door and walk into the kitchen. For a while, after my mother passed, my father adopted a tone that wasn’t truly his when I came over. He was making a conscious effort to be extra nice and to not let any disappointment shine through in the way he spoke. But ten years later, when I stand in his kitchen unannounced on a regular old Thursday, he has clearly forgotten all about the warmish way he temporarily greeted me with.

“I’m not saying you’re nitpicking,” Zoey said to me when I expressed my grievance over my father’s behavior after one very intense altercation. “But some things will never truly change. And what do you prefer? A hug you’re not really into yourself every time you walk into your parents’ house, or your father making an effort on many other fronts. Because he is. He’s trying so hard to become more to you than he is.”

I always think of what Zoey told me that day when I greet my father. It helps me to ignore the fact that we’re just not that kind of family. 

“I have come to see my father,” I say.

“Oh.” Whenever I visit home, it always comes across as though my father feels ill at ease in his own house. Or as though I’m interrupting him while he is performing a very important task. “You’d best sit down and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee then,” he says.

I put my bag on the kitchen table and sit down at one of the chairs of my youth. My father fumbles with the espresso machine I got him for his birthday. I know he only uses it when I’m here and he simply doesn’t really know how it works. But I know better than to interrupt and show him.

After he manages to produce two coffees and sits down across from me, he asks, “Was there anything, in particular, you wanted to talk about?”

I know he secretly lives for these moments. These rare instances when we pretend to be like everything is okay and our lives never fell apart. It’s as though we do this all the time. As though impromptu intimate chats are common in this house. 

“Zoey asked me to marry her.” I have no other choice but to blurt it out. My heart pounds a little when I say the words.

“Oh.” Dad’s default response to most declarations. But I’m glad this is his reaction. I’m glad he doesn’t burst out into a jubilant shout the way Ava did. My dad’s reaction fits my own sentiments perfectly.

“I haven’t given her an answer yet,” I continue. “I never imagined we would be having this conversation…again.”

“She must be devastated.” My father stares absently at the steam rising from his mug.

Devastated is not the world I would connect with how Zoey behaved last night. And this is the big difference between spending time with Zoey and spending time with my father. 

“Not really. She understands.” I sip from my coffee. When I gave my father the coffee machine as a gift, I could predict with a hundred percent certainty that his response would not be to simply thank me. Instead, he asked accusingly, “Is the coffee from my coffee maker not good enough for you?” It’s how he is. Negative reactions are hard-wired into his DNA. 

“I wanted to ask you a question,” I say.

My father looks at me from over the rim of his glasses, not saying anything.

“Knowing what you know now, and having been through all that you’ve been through.” While I’m asking the question a persistent voice in my head keeps shouting that my father is actually the very last person I should ask about this.  _ What am I thinking? Have I lost my mind? _ “Would you marry again?

Dad puts his cup down and stares out the kitchen window. I glance at her furtively, at the worn skin, at what decades of medication have done to his body, at the hard, hard-line bracketing his mouth that always makes it seem impossible for him to genuinely smile. And I’m torn, the way I always am, between the love I have for him, and the compassion, and all the things I cannot say to him, and by the distance that I keep - because the distance is always easier. I may have only moved into the city from the far edge of the suburbs, but the emotional distance between us remains much further. Because there are no miracles when it comes to negotiating the minefield of family. 

“You’ve kind of sprunt that one on me, Joanie.” Sitting here with him, asking him this question, is my only way of showing him I care. His opinion - in its own way - matters to me, regardless of how unnatural this conversation feels.

“I know.” I give a chuckle. “Zoey kind of sprung the question on me as well.”

“My only possible answer can be a resounding yes… If I found the right person.” His voice has gone all solemn. “...If I hadn’t married your mother, I wouldn't have you.”

Ah, there we go. Touching on that ever-returning conundrum in my mind. The most persistent voice of all. No matter how bad my marriage got, no matter how bad a combination - to say it in Ava’s terms - my parents thought I should see it through, work it out, stay. But I didn’t do that. My life, my marriage was different from theirs. My mother didn’t leave my father by choice. 

What am I supposed to say to that? Thank you? Besides, he’s missing the point of my question entirely. “You didn’t have to be married to have children.”

“Back then we did. Things are different now.”

“I know,” I reply. I feel like I’m going in circles, and I also know I came to the wrong person with this question. A silence ensues, all the while I try to come up with valid excuses to get out of my father’s kitchen pronto.

“Look, Joanie, I won’t sit here and pretend I don’t know why you’re asking me this question.” This grabs my attention. Once in a while, it’s as though my father crawls out of his perpetual funk and bares his teeth shouting, ‘I’m here and I still matter’.

“I know you think your mother and I had a perfect marriage, one that was cut short by a cruel twist of fate. And I know very well that losing your mother hurt you as a young woman. He says it in the tone Dr. Hakim used to take with me: cool, calm, and collected. As if there’s only one truth in the universe and he’s about to deliver it. “It’s not hard to guess why you didn’t jump at the chance to marry Zoey. You don’t believe in marriage. And that’s totally okay. But let me say this - we are all born with our imperfections and our insecurities, some more than others. Case in point.” He actually gives a self-deprecating laugh. “Do I wish I had made different decisions in my life?” A shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I stopped asking myself that question long ago, because this is my life. I can’t imagine it without your mother, not even after losing her, because I needed her. More than I have ever needed anyone in my life. And I can’t possibly claim that a life without her, could make me any happier… But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying. We get this one life, we get this one time to make as many trips around the sun as we can. And if you find someone who makes you happy - truly happy - well Joanie, you gotta grab it with both hands and hold on tight.”

For an instant, I think he might start crying, but he doesn’t, of course. This is still my father sitting across from me.

“No marriage is perfect. It didn’t work for you and Charlie and that’s okay. You’re mother and I fought like cats and dogs and then cancer came along and ended our story before we had the chance to finish it ourselves. That doesn’t mean people should stop getting married.” And I guess, that is the one thing I did want to hear. The one thing I drove here for.

“Zoey really, really wants to get married,” I say because I have no immediate response to all the other things he just said.

“I want to give you something,” he surprises me by getting up. “Just hold on a second.” He exits the kitchen and I hear him thumping up the stairs. This gives me time to ponder this conversation. What would really change if I married Zoey, except that it would make her very happy? But this is not about Zoey’s happiness so much as it is about me confronting my beliefs. Because, of course, I want nothing more than to make Zoey happy.

I hear my father descending the stairs and I’m burning with curiosity to find out what he wants to give me. His hand is cupped around something when he enters the kitchen. 

“Here,” he says as he opens his fist to show me what he is holding. “This is the engagement ring I gave your mother. It belonged to my mother who got it from your grandmother and so on. I want you to have it.”

I’m dumbfounded. I stare at the ring. It’s a simple thin gold band with tiny diamonds all the way around it. For some reason, it strikes me as the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. “You do?”

“Yes, Joan. Do with it what you want. Keep it somewhere if only as a reminder that your mom and I were once very much in love and, in some way, we still are. Our marriage may not have been the happiest all of the time, and it may not have been the longest, but it was by no means a failed marriage.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice breaking a little as tears start to sting my eyes.

“Only you can decide if you want to be married, Joanie.” My father is still holding out his hand, the ring sparking in his rough palm. I take it from him and hold it delicately in front of me. I know what to do. And as though this ring has magical powers, I also suddenly know  _ where _ to do it.

“Thank you,” I say again, and I can’t resist the urge to hug my father, not something I do very often. That’s how giddy I feel.

  
  


**Zoey**

“Wake up,” Joan whispers in my ear, but it’s not easy. Mo and his boyfriend came over last night with a bottle of brandy I couldn’t resist savoring way too much of. On Thursday, though, Joan asked me to not plan anything for Saturday because she had a surprise lined up for me. When I open my eyes a fraction, blinking against the too-bright morning sun, which isn’t even that bright for this time of year, I see Joan smiling down at me. 

“What’s gotten into you?” I groan, my voice is heavy with sleep.

“You’ll see if you ever make it out of this bed,” she teases. “And I won’t stand for any complaints about having a hangover, darling.” She narrows her eyes at me, “You really shouldn’t try to keep with a man who makes his living at clubs. You’re no match.”

I shake my head. “Be nice to me please.” I grab Joan by the arms and pull her down on top of me. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Joan whispers between light kisses behind my ear. 

“Only if you join me,” I whisper back.

“I would if you haven't slept this late. I have plans for us, remember?”

“But it’s Saturday,” I whine. “I’m allowed to sleep in.” I pull Joan closer to me, inhaling her fresh floral scent. 

“Yes, well, now I’m asking you to please,” she bats her eyes at me dramatically, “get your hungover ass out of bed!” She wrestles herself free from my hold and stands at the side of the bed. “I promise you it’ll be more than worth it,” she pulls my hands until I’m sitting upright. “Come on. Chop chop.”

Ten minutes later I’m lying stretched out in the bath, trying to ignore the throbbing of my brain against my skull, and trying to guess what Joan’s surprise is. I know we have to leave the house for it. That’s as far as I get. My brain is too frazzled to form too many thoughts.

Half an hour later, after Joan hands me an aspirin and tells me she has breakfast taken care of - “and it’s more brunch by now anyway”- I’m in the passenger seat of her Land Rover. I lean my head back and stare out of the open window, letting the wind caress my skin and, hopefully, blow away that nauseous feeling in my gut. I look at the houses we pass as Joan drives us to the edge of town, then take a right, I know where she’s taking me.

“Feeling nostalgic?” I ask and put my hand on her knee. 

“Maybe a bit.” She doesn’t look at me - San Francisco traffic tends to make you a nervous driver - but I can see her lips curl into a smile. 

When we reach the beach, it’s as though the fog clears from my brain, and a tingle settles in my stomach. Joan is not one for trips down memory lane. There’s a reason why she brought me here: either she’s going to give me the most heartfelt proposal rejection ever, or she has picked this spot to say yes.

She rebuffs my offer to carry the picnic basket she packed up the hill, so I’m left with no option but to follow her, my hands empty, but my head filled with possibilities.

“Remember when we came here last?” she asks as she spreads a blanket over the sand.

“How could I ever forget?” It was our first semi-date after I got back to work. Joan had invited me to go for a drive with her. “You ran away from me that night,” she points out. “I’m still recovering from that.”

“I did no such thing,” I protest, but Joan arches her eyebrows to contest. “I was just nervous because I had all these feelings for you and I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

She wraps her arms around my waist. “I did miss you.” I let my head fall forward against her chest and she rests her chin atop my head. I smile against her, I love the way we fit together. 

“You must be hungry,” she whispers.

“I’ll be hungry for you soon enough if you keep this up.” 

She tightens her hold on my waist. “Come on, you have to eat something.”

“I know,” I slip my fingers under her blazer and up her toned back. “You.”

Joan smiles down at me, “You’d better behave or you can kiss your surprise goodbye.” She pushes herself out of my embrace. “I have bread and cheese and salami.” She bends down to open the picnic basket. “I also brought a bottle of wine, but I’m guessing you won’t be partaking today?” she asks with a smile in her voice. “And then there’s this.”  Her hand comes out of the basket with her fingers folded into a fist. She rises to her full height and faces me. She clears her throat and fixes her gaze on me. 

“Zoey Clarke,” she says, while slowly unfolding her fingers. “Will you marry me?” In her palm, I see a ring. On her face, I see an expression torn between the widest smile and the onset of tears.

“ _You’re_ asking _me_?” I’m so beside myself, I forget to reply, while in my mind, a loud voice is screaming: _She’s asking me? Of course, she’s asking me - she’s Joan._ _Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!_

“I am.” She takes the ring out of her palm and holds it in front of me. “I got you a ring and everything.”

I look at the ring and the diamonds it sports, and I look back at the love of my life, “Hell yes, Joan Bennett. I will marry you! I would marry you a thousand times over.”

Joan breaks out into a wide smile, and I feel my cheeks dimpling with the same sensation. “Come on then. Let’s get this on your finger.”

“Where did you get this?” Try as I might, I can’t imagine she would have picked this style. 

“My father gave it to me,” she says and reaches for my hand. “Gave me a speech with it and all.”

“Oh really? What did he say?” Joan lifts up my hand and proceeds to slip the ring over my ring finger. 

“When you find the right one, you have to grab on tight and just enjoy the ride.” 

We both look at the ring on my finger and pure happiness bursts through me. “What made you change your mind?” I ask while bringing her hand to my mouth and pressing a kiss on the back of her hand. 

“Everything everyone said to me, I guess. But most of all: you. Just you being you, Zoey.” She steps closer and looks me in the eyes. “You swept me off my feet the first day you walked into my office. You were awkward and silly," she teases causing me to blush. "And so brilliant, and bold, and innovative and goddamn beautiful. I fought this, oh I fought it so hard. But every morning, I'd look for you, and the second I saw your firey red hair my day was instantly made better. You were my colleague, and my friend, then my lover and now, I want you to be my wife.  I love you, Zoey. And I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Nothing else is of any importance.”

“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks now on fire with the blush she has caused. I know Joan had to conquer some demons to get to this point. I know she had to get outside of her head, and the million thoughts that gather there and make her fear so many things she shouldn’t be so afraid of. “I love you.” I gather her toward me and kiss her for a long time. When we break from our kiss, I say, “There’s really only one way to celebrate.” 

“Oh yeah?” Joan paints on a crooked smile. “What’s that?” 

“Don’t play coy with me. I know exactly why you picked this spot.”

“Do you now?”

“We both have memories here, but perhaps it’s time to make some new ones.” I can already feel the lust pulsing in my blood. 

“What kind of memories do you have in mind?” Joan’s mouth is so close to mine I can feel it when she moves her lips.

“The really, really, hot kind,” I say, and kiss her. I kiss my fiancee, I kiss Joan with her ring on my finger, and I can’t help but wonder what her father said to her. Whatever it was, it must have been something really powerful. And it’s no wonder, I think because he is Joan’s father. And despite Joan herself not being able to see this half of the time because of all her own issues, her father had his heart in the right place and that warms my heart even more. Once Joan and I are married, I will have a wife and father-in-law and I make a mental note to tell Mo later when we share the good news. 

“Let’s sit down,” I say to Joan between kisses while my hands make their way underneath her sweater. The breeze off the water is quite chilly, so it’s probably not wise to undress, but I need to feel her skin against my hands, need to feel as much of her as possible. 

The food she unearthed from the basket remains untouched as we lie down on the blanket and I kiss Joan’s neck, I inhale her scent and it mixes with the scent of the salty sea and the muskiness of the thick forest behind us. 

Joan starts tugging at my shirt and I don’t mind being naked. I swim in the lake all through autumn and I can withstand lower temperatures much better than her. So I let her take off my top and my bra, and I let her look. I revel in how her eyes glint when she locks them on my breasts, how simply watching me can do that to her. I let Joan keep her sweater on, but I will need her to take off her jeans for what I have in mind. I find the button and flip it open, and the simple act of doing som sends my heart aflutter. I pull her trousers all the way off. She’s still wearing her panties - but not for long.

I crawl between her legs and I see now that she’s wearing the panties I gave her for Valentine’s Day earlier this year. She came to this spot well-prepared. Leave it to Joan to think of every single detail.

I press my mouth against the thin fabric and I can smell her arousal. Oh how I want Joan in this moment. How I want her for what she’s willing to overcome for me. I like her through the fabric and I can feel how swollen her clit is. Then I can’t control myself any longer and push her panties to the side. I don’t even want to take the time to hoist them off her. Like this will do fine for me. I look down at her glistening nether lips and I remember what I told myself after Joan left for the office Wednesday morning, and in the evening before I fell asleep, and just about every other hour until now.  _ It’s okay if she doesn’t want to marry me. It’s okay because we’re already so good together.  _ But now that she has said yes, I feel extraordinary and extra worthy of bringing my tongue down to taste her most intimate parts. And even though it shouldn’t make a difference that we’re engaged now, it does.

I let my tongue dart along with her, teasing her entrance, then trail it up to her clit. I give her a few determined licks before tracing my tongue down again and pushing into her. And this is not really the place to take my time with her, to make her suffer a bit for making me wait for her reply for three long days, so I suck her clit between my lips and let my tongue trill against it.

“Zo-ey!” Joan’s hands are in my hair, and I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not, but it’s as though I can feel the engagement ring press into her hip as I tighten my grip. This only spurs me on to lick her more frantically, until, to my surprise, Joan puts both her hands on my cheeks and pulls me away from her.

When I look at her, she pants, “I want to feel you when I come.” 

The sight of her is so thrilling, so intoxicating, I can feel my clit swell against my own panties. 

“Yeah?” I quirk up my eyebrows.

“Yes.” Joan’s voice is decisive and firm. “Take off your jeans,” she huffs.

I jump up, wrestle my jeans and underwear off me, and watch how Joan throws her panties carelessly next to the blanket. 

“Straddle me,” Joan instructs and taps her index finger to her lips, and who am I to contradict my future wife?

I move toward her and present my backside to her while planting my knees on either side of her shoulders. The air is cool on my pussy, and I shiver involuntarily. But then, a rush of heat warms me instantly as Joan’s body is in front of me again, her legs spread wide, unencumbered by panties. I lower myself over her and taste her again. In this position, it’s much easier to suck her clit into my mouth than to penetrate her with my tongue, so I do just that. I can only focus half as much as before, though, because Joan’s tongue had launched its own assault on my clit. As in all things, Joan is relentless. And fuck, all of this is too much. Joan beneath me, her tongue on my pussy, that ring on my finger, the happiness riding through my veins. My conscious mind slips away, bowing to the needs of my body. All of my emotions seem to have fueled the energy converging in my clit. I can’t think of a time when I’ve been more excited and at peace with everything. I hear the waves meet the shoreline, and I hear Joan moan below me, and I hear the sound of my own lips sucking at Joan’s clit, and the air is fresh in my nose and on my pussy, and it’s as though I lose myself for an instant and all the stress I haven’t allowed myself to feel the past three days released at once as Joan’s tongue works my clit harder and her perfectly manicured fingernails dig into my ass cheeks. I give her everything I have.

“Oh fuck! Joan!” My orgasm rips through me so fast. I don’t even know if she has come, that’s how far out I was. I need a few seconds to catch my breath, but as soon as I do, I return my attention to her and Joan is shaking with her own orgasm beneath me. “Damn,” I mutter as I gingerly maneuver myself off her and lay down with my head on her shoulder. 

I’m fully naked and, now that the biggest thrill has worn off, I’m cooling off quickly. Joan pulls me in closer to her. “Is this a taster for when we’re married?” I ask as I find her eyes.

“Orgasms on the beach in the plain light of day?” Joan asks while she holds my hand up to examine the ring on my finger.

“No,” I smile down at her. “You always bossing me around.”

Joan considers this for a second, “Well, I am your boss after all.”

We both break out into a fit of laughter and I can’t remember a time in my life that I’ve been happier.

  
  


**The End**

* * *

Thank you for your support. I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my version of Joan and Zoey's world.


End file.
